This post is long overdue. Thanks to the dedication of a reader who has been checking back periodically I received a much needed nudge today. I said goodbye, privately, to Scarlett Greyson as my pen name quite some time ago. Because the name wasn’t entirely of my choosing I didn’t feel that it was one I wanted to carry forward. So when my life went through a gigantic upheaval in the spring of 2010 I put Scarlett on ice.

Since that time I divorced my husband, moved to another state and really have found myself living quite a different life.

“Perfect,” he exhaled, dragging the stiletto’s point in a spiral on my soft stomach. “Would you like to see?” His breath teased my lips; I nodded, mute.

“Hold still.” A blade traced my cheekbone, another my jaw. In unison they slipped under the satin I froze; the fabric rent with deft twists of his blades.

Sight returned my eyes devoured him. I licked my lips; he grinned. With a knifepoint he tipped my chin, dragging my gaze from his erection. “It won’t be that easy,” he teased, flipping the other stiletto in his palm; pressing the handle to my lips. “Show me,” he growled, ” how much you regret evading me.”

Do make sure you stop by Alison Tyler’s Smutathon to continue voting in the ongoing competition and to enjoy some truly fine work!

I just love it when I check my email and there’s a review in it! (Shhh. Yes, I know…I’ve not had many reviews yet. Makes it all the nicer!) But even nicer is the review that I found waiting for my novella, Slipping Time! The lovely Kelli Collins wrote:

I had a question or two about one aspect of the premise, but that’s nearly insignificant in the face of beautiful emotion, palpable suspense and an almost magical quality that draws you in and holds you tight from first page to last. The sex scenes were lovely in their sadness, in the face of the women’s circumstances, but the author gives them the ending you desperately want them to have. I didn’t want the story to end.

Which of course just made my morning! I really love this story and it makes me smile to see other people enjoy it!

I can…at least for a little while longer. The Smutathon continues, so take yourself over, read some delicious, sweet secret filth and vote! I can’t tell you which one is mine yet, but don’t worry, at the end we’ll all spill our secrets!

I made it through the first elimination! There were a definite couple of runaway favorites but I did manage enough votes for my story ‘The Painter’ to move on to the next round. We’ve already received our next challenge and I’m pondering it…hopefully the muse will cooperate soon!

She watches my hands, always. Whenever I work I know I’ll find her near, peeking through the sweep of her hair, eyes tracking my movements. Lindsay was one of the first visitors to my studio; now the most frequent.The painting is near complete. I can feel her gaze on me as I add the smallest of final touches with small twists of my paintbrush. Never before has she stayed so long. I wonder if she realizes it’s her portrait. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers; she’s so close my heart lurches. When our gazes meet my stomach takes a lazy tumble. I realize for the first time she’s gold flecks in her ultramarine irises and there’s a splash of raw sienna freckles across the bridge of her nose. A scent, crisp and bright as cadmium yellow twists through the sharp bite of turpentine. Lips find lips; hands discover the shape of waist and hip. The hollow of her throat tastes of sweet sweat, her nipples tightening into peaks of Persian Red. Inch by inch I paint her body with my tongue just as I painted her image, filling my other senses with her. Her lust I taste and label as the rage of Scheveningen reds, my tongue delving, drinking, stroking. And when she twists her fingers into my hair, urgent, voice calling, I lose all thought of color, lost in the taste, the feel, the sound of her. My senses opened and caught, imagination ensnared.